A tree was painted on the double doors, with a network of limbs and smaller branches reaching out, and down the center of the doors ran the trunk, with thin slabs of real bark, sanded to a smooth glossy finish, ending in roots, also slightly raised, that looked as if planted in the threshold. But the focus of the doors was a pair of doorknobs carved to look like the heads of whimsical woodland spirits with slender trailing beards. Truly a blend of hobbit and fairytale. The house also stood on timbers, about six feet off the ground, but with a deck out front with low wide steps leading to it, that turned on a landing, making an easy climb.
"Like I said, it's a piecemeal job," Ace stated. "I like scrounging around salvage yards which explains the hodge-podge of materials."
Piper was charmed by what she saw. "Maybe you see a hodge-podge but I see a fairytale cottage that could've been inspired by Tolkien's Hobbit or Lord of the Rings. In fact, I half expect Bilbo and Frodo Baggins to come out and ask what we're doing here. Did you put the tree on the doors or was it already there?" she asked, remembering what Anne said about Ace carving gallery quality ducks, so an artistic rendering of a tree on a pair of doors with spirit doorknobs wouldn't be so surprising.
Ace shrugged. "I was just messin' around while tryin' to decide what color to paint the door and trim and ended up paintin' a tree instead and leavin' the trim natural."
"And the doorknobs?"
"Cypress knees. The faces were already there. All I did was carve away what wasn't a face."
"Right. So, what made you decide to build a Hobbit house?"
"I don't know about a Hobbit house. I just don't want to live in a box. Drive down most streets and what you see is a line-up of boxes lookin' like they came off an assembly line, and inside the boxes are rooms covered in wallboard so flimsy you could punch a fist through it."
Piper couldn't argue. "Are we going inside?" she asked, wanting to see all the little hidden trolls and elves in there.
"No reason. Like I said, it's just a shell right now."
Piper gazed at the eclectic assortment of beautifully-restored windows, still a bit dumbfounded to be looking at the jewel of a house that was the vision of a man she'd initially pegged as nothing more than a Cajun cowboy with a penchant for match races and fais do-dos, who'd captured her heart when he connected with Rags, her special baby, in a way she could never have imagined. And now she was learning he was so much more.
What baffled her most was the woman who walked away from him and all the sweat he'd put into a house he was building just for her. "Why would she leave all this?" she mused.
"Some women put more weight on buildin' a career than a home."
Piper looked at Ace with a start, realizing she'd verbalized her thoughts. "Sorry. I was thinking aloud. Anne mentioned your fiancée broke things off and she hoped you'd choose better next time."
Ace let out an ironic huff. "I'm a slow learner. It'll take more than one knock on my head before I get it right. Come on, let's get back. I've got work to do." He turned his horse, leaving Piper to trail after him while trying to digest his two-pronged comment.
I was only askin' you to eat with us, not marry me…
Which told her exactly where she stood with him from the start. She was one of those knocks on his head he'd suffer on the way to getting it right, meaning finding the kind of woman Anne talked about, someone who loved ranch life and horses, who'd share the joys and burdens of marriage and raising a family. And it would be difficult to convince him that a female jockey whose goal was to track around the country to the big stakes races while riding the top thoroughbreds in the world could be that woman.
Yet, until a day spent moving cattle with him, that's the way it had been, and now she couldn't deny, Ace's presence in her life was changing things. Proving herself as a female jockey was still important, but maybe it was more about proving to everyone else she could do it.
She'd have to think on that.
CHAPTER 14
Standing at the railing with stop-watches in their hands, Ace and Henri watched Piper, who was crouched over Rags as they soared around the track during a 6-furlong breeze, the men's gazes following the pair as Rags sailed through an easy quarter mile in a mind-blowing 22.06 seconds, then kept going and going, Rags grinding up the track as she accelerated in the turn while pulling 4 furlongs at 46.08 seconds. Hindquarters churning, hooves pulverizing the track, she streamed past 5 furlongs at 57.04 seconds, then charging down the straightaway like a surfer riding a tidal wave she flashed under the wire where Ace and Henri pumped the triggers on their stop watches, clocking 6 furlongs. Stunned with the readout, they compared times. Both watches read a phenomenal 1:06.30 seconds.
Ace scanned the statistics for the Fair Grounds he'd jotted down on a notepad, his heartbeat accelerating with his findings. "She would've set a track record," he said in a robotic tone, what he'd just seen almost too inconceivable to believe.
He looked at Pépère, who smiled and said, "Yep, we've got us another Miss Maple. That's the quickest I've ever seen a horse get so good so fast. All we have to do now is keep her sound, and if she don't win next time around she'll be back because she's got it in her to win.''
Piper continued around the track, allowing Rags to go at her own pace to cool down, which had slowed to a lope, and after another lap around the track she brought Rags to a halt in front of the railing where Henri and Ace stood, and she said, "Today I think Rags found her running shoes. I was clocking the time in my head and she couldn't have been much over 67 seconds."
"Take a look." Ace passed his stop watch up to her.
Piper eyed the figure on it, and after a few seconds ticked by, she said, "Wait a minute! That would've broken Mountain General's record. He clocked in at 1:06.40."
Ace grinned. "She also came 8/100th of a second of beating Barbaro's 4-furlong workout."
Piper's face broke out in a wide grin. Bending over Rags, she patted her neck and said, "Good job, muffinhead. You get to play with your squeaky toy." She looked at Ace, who pulled the toy out of a bag hanging on his shoulder and handed it to Rags, who grabbed the rubber chicken and started shaking it vigorously.
Piper dismounted and said to Henri, "I'll hose her down if you want. Playing with the water was always a part of her playtime routine when my father's trainer wasn't around."
When Henri nodded, Piper walked off with Rags, leaving Ace standing with his grandfather, which gave him a chance to voice his opinion at a time when his grandfather might be open to suggestion. He'd been mulling things over half the night and kept coming to the same conclusion. If you can't lick'um, join'um, was the old expression, and the way he saw it, since Piper wasn't a woman who'd abandon her dream of tracking around the country as a jockey for something as mundane as marrying a man who'd love, honor and cherish her, then he might as well back off from romancing her and help her realize her dream.
The problem was, he hadn't expected Rags to run like a stakes winner. He'd anticipated a fast timed workout, but not a record breaker. Which put a different spin on things. If Rags turned out to be a prospect for the big stakes races, her value would soar, at which point he'd have no choice but to sell and pocket his gains. And if at that time Piper was Rag's jockey, she'd continue jockeying for the new owner if they wanted her, or she'd be picked up by other trainers. Either way, the door to her dreams would open. And shut in his face.
Holding onto Rags and chasing around the country wasn't an option. Not only did he need to recover his investment, but he and his brothers had a cattle operation to run and he had a house to finish. Piper was initially the inspiration behind picking up where he'd left off when he was all but dumped at the altar, but once on a building roll, he wanted to see his bayou home become a reality. Then he'd take the next step. Find a woman whose dreams mirrored his.
"Piper handled the filly well," he said to his grandfather as an opener. "She and Rags make a good team."
Henri eyed him with suspicion. "Because the filly clocked one good work
out time you wanna put your girlfriend up on her and send her out in the field at her next race."
"Piper's not my girlfriend. Why do you keep sayin' that?"
"You think 'cause a man's past seventy he can't see? I've watched what's goin' on between the two of you."
"Okay, maybe I like her some, but it's not mutual, and the reason you should run her in the next race is because she knows how to handle the filly. You saw how fast the filly ran, and she wasn't huggin' the rail or weavin' down the track. You also saw how she took off when Piper gave her the signal to go."
"One good clockin' don't mean she's a shoe in. Mornin' workouts when a horse is fresh are different from afternoon races when the horse has to deal with yellin' crowds and runnin' in a field of horses."
Ace eyed his grandfather with bafflement. He hadn't expected him to find fault after that spectacular run, and with Piper handling Rags like a pro. "At the claimin' race Rags took in everything goin' on around her and wasn't sweatin' it, one of the reasons I claimed her. And that wasn't an ordinary workout today. Rags broke a track record in addition to pullin' 10 seconds the first furlong."
"Even a second-rate horse can break the 10-second time barrier for one furlong. But with stakes races it's not the horse that's winded after runnin' a furlong in 10 that wins. It's the one that can put together 8 to 10 furlongs at an average of 12 seconds a furlong."
"You know as well as I that the filly has it in her to do that," Ace countered. "She wasn't even winded after today's run. You've said in the past a horse runnin' in the mornin' workout for the sheer joy of speed will more often than not carry that attitude into the winner's circle in the afternoon."
"And I stand by that."
"Then why are you being so negative about Piper jockeyin' Rags? Is it because she's a Harrison?"
"I don't care if a monkey rides. I want the best jockey. We've got Robichau if we want him, and the girl's still an apprentice." Henri turned and walked off.
Ace called after him. "Don't wait too long to decide because if Piper runs she'll need silks and we don't have anything her size."
His grandfather never looked back.
A few moments later, Piper emerged from the shed row and walked up to Ace. "I heard the end of that debate. Thanks for putting in a plug for me."
"I told you I would. Come on in the tack room I have something to show you."
Piper followed Ace into the tack room, where he opened a small door that housed a pole with silk shirts hanging from it. Sorting through the collection, he pulled out the smallest and offered it to her. "Do you know anyone who could alter this in a couple of days if necessary?"
Piper held up a yellow silk shirt with a crimson vest emblazoned with the Broussard cattle brand—a large B inside a yellow circle. Clipped onto the hanger was a crimson cap. "Our cook does sewing on the side and I'm sure she could take in a few tucks, but it doesn't sound like your grandfather plans for me to ride. If he's not convinced after today's workout he never will be."
As Piper talked, Ace attempted to follow what she was saying, but being in the dusky twilight of the tack room with the woman he loved standing no more than two feet away, coupled with the thought of pulling her into his arms and kissing her, was testing his willpower along with his resolve to back off from pursuing her…
"Do you think your grandfather's passing me over because of the bad blood between our families?"
Ace took the shirt from her and re-hung it, then turned to face her, his eyes focused on her lips, which were parted, as if waiting for him to do something, her eyes hopeful, like the thing she wanted him to do was kiss her, and his hands were itching to reach out and do just that.
Reeling in those thoughts, he said, "I don't know. I can't think with you lookin' at me the way you are."
"I'm not sure what you mean." She licked her lips, and the gentle flaring of her nostrils told him her breath had quickened.
"I mean lookin' like you want me to do this." He pulled her to him and kissed her like there was no tomorrow, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, all the while his thoughts kept shifting to and fro like a cutting horse heading off a cow. Break things off and be done with it. Back off and give it time. Ride the crest of the wave with her and end up the same damn fool he'd been when loving a woman with lofty dreams.
Breaking the kiss abruptly, he said, "I told you I was a slow learner."
"What does that have to do with kissing me?" Piper asked, eyes troubled, and confused.
He removed her hands from around his neck. "You were right when you asked me to back off and give you space, and I haven't exactly done that."
"Maybe I don't want you to back off now. Things have changed. You had me ride a cutting horse and I saw your house."
"Does ridin' a cuttin' horse and seein' my house change your long-range plans?" Ace asked.
"I still want to be a jockey but there's something about the way you live that has me thinking. Maybe I just need more time."
"That's what I'm givin' you." He walked to the door of the tack room and stepped aside for Piper to follow, and when she did, he closed the door and continued down the shed row.
Piper caught up, and walking alongside, she said, "Will you still take me to see Mary ride in the rodeo?"
"If you want, but maybe I exaggerated about the fast action. It doesn't match what you'd be doin' when runnin' in a field of horses at the same blazing speed Rags ran today."
"I still want to go to the rodeo."
"Fine, I'll pick up a couple of tickets." Saying nothing more, he turned out of the shed row and went to join Hank and Pike, who were standing in front of the stock barn, their horses saddled. He hadn't intended on going with them to prowl around the pastures while looking for sick or injured cattle, and cutting, roping and doctoring them, but he needed a good long day of ranch work to get his mind back on what was important. Maybe ride Tagalong, his newest colt. Riding with a group of cow savvy horses was one of the best ways to get a young colt started, and the challenge of working with an unpredictable youngster, who was just apt to buck him off, might knock some good old common sense into his thick head.
***
Piper sat beside Ace while perusing the colorful program in her hand, a three-fold leaflet touting an equally colorful history of the rodeo, a place where locals came to see, "…contestants with the same grit and fortitude of the working cowboys and cowgirls of bygone eras…."
She had no argument. The first half of the rodeo featured tie-down roping, bareback bronc riding, team roping, saddle bronc riding and muttin' busting for boys and girls as young as six, who came out of the chute on sheep twice their size, and when dumped off, they lifted themselves up and scurried out of the arena.
She noted on the program that following steer wrestling, which was at the moment sending up giant dust devils, would be barrel racing, with bull riding the last event.
She not only found herself enjoying the rodeo, she was enthusiastic about it, something she hadn't expected. Her reason for going had been to spend the day with Ace and get to the bottom of whatever was bothering him, maybe let him know things in her life were changing, that her feelings for him grew stronger exponentially every time she was with him.
The downside of the day was from the time she left with Ace he'd barely touched her, except for brief moments when she'd feel his hand at the small of her back, or a nudge on her shoulder to get her through the crowd, and an occasional brush of their arms as they sat on the bleacher side-by-side. It was all she could do to keep from reaching over and taking his hand.
Before visiting his house he would have been the one to take her hand, and she would have allowed it even while she struggled with a plethora of mixed emotions. He's handsome, he's talented, he's hardworking, he's magic when he holds her in his arms whether to kiss her or dance with her. She thinks she loves him. No, not love, infatuation. She's attracted to him because he owns her horse, he's a Broussard and Broussards and Harrisons don't mix. Ex
cept Anne and Joe were ecstatically happy, and Cajun men were devoted husbands and dedicated family men. And he wants a woman to feather his woodland nest and she wants to be that woman because… She loves him. Bringing her full circle. It was about to drive her nuts.
"Next up is barrel racing," a voice blared over the PA. "That three-barrel pattern's called the cloverleaf and it's timed right down to the hundredth of a second by an electric eye so there's no room for error, and you'd better believe every rider here's hoping to run those barrels a split second faster than anyone else."
While the announcer rattled on about the event, Piper leaned toward Ace and said, "I need a quick tutorial. This really is my first rodeo. And by the way, I'm loving every minute of it."
Ace eyed her skeptically. "I'm surprised you've never been curious enough to see what it's all about."
"That's because I've spent my life on becoming a jockey, but you've made me want to branch out on the way."
"Because I took you along to herd cattle?"
"That and a lot of other things you've introduced in my life."
Instead of picking up on her opening to plant the seed of a later dialog about hopes and dreams and the love that was growing between them, even if Ace was fighting it, Ace ignored it, saying, "Okay then listen up because Mary's sixth and this goes fast, with contestants comin' out of the alley every minute, and I promised Mary I'd take a video so she can see her mistakes. Basically, the horse and rider run around the barrels while an electronic timer's tickin'. The timer starts when the horse and rider cross an electronic beam on enterin' the arena and stops when they cross the beam after completin' the formation, which means makin' tight turns and sprintin' for the finish line. If a barrel's tipped over it's a 5-second penalty, which pretty much puts the cowgirl out of the runnin'."
"You said cowgirl. Can't cowboys do this too?" Piper asked.
"Nope. It's women only."
The Final Turn (Cajun Cowboys Book 2) Page 16